Protected by the Prince

‘Stop teasing.’ Her voice was hoarse and uneven. Alaric looked up to see her brow furrow as she watched him. ‘Just…’ She paused and swallowed hard. ‘Do it.’

Despite the wobbly order, Tamsin’s eyes were dazed and her skin flushed with arousal. The combination of prim command, desperation and luscious wanton was delicious.

Eyes holding hers, he covered one nipple with his lips, enjoying the way her eyes widened as she watched him draw her into his mouth. Heat shot through him, catapulting him into a world of sensual pleasure as he devoured her sweetness. He sucked hard and she jerked like a puppet on a string, head and neck arched against the wood panelling. Her lower body moved restlessly against him, mimicking his own edgy need to thrust into her.

Not yet. Tamsin was pure delight. He couldn’t get enough of her.

He moved to her other breast, daring a tiny erotic bite. She keened her pleasure, her body stiffening around his as if he’d generated an electric current. He breathed deep the sweet scent of feminine arousal and his blood surged south.

She was so hyper-sensitive, was it possible he could bring her to orgasm like this? The notion was almost too much for his threadbare self-discipline.

Another graze of his teeth, this time at her nipple, and another jolt ripped through her. Hungrily he suckled, feeding the demon inside that demanded more, demanded everything from her.

Fumbling, he scrabbled at her skirts, the slippery fabric sliding through his unsteady hands.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

Rising, he plastered his mouth over hers, revelling in her kisses as finally his questing fingers found silk clad thighs. Stockings! He found the upper edge, the line where material met bare, smooth flesh and he faltered, heart pounding at the image his mind conjured.

He wanted to spread her on a bed and leisurely inspect the sexy picture she’d make before taking his fill. But he didn’t have time, his need was too urgent. His erection throbbed so needily he wondered if he’d be able to get out of his trousers without injury.

He drove her head back with hungry kisses as he hiked her skirts. In a perfect world she wouldn’t be wearing panties.

But this was no fantasy. His hands encountered cotton. Despite the sexy gown and stockings, Tamsin had chosen no-nonsense underwear. Underwear damp with arousal.

Spreading his hand to cup her mound, feeling her push hard into his grip, Alaric decided cotton panties were far sexier than silk, more of a turn on than Lycra or lace. Tamsin didn’t need frills. She was potently, earthily sexy.

Her hand insinuated itself between their bodies to grapple with the fastening of his dress trousers.

She’d send him over the edge in a moment. He clamped an iron hand round her wrist.

‘Don’t!’ he growled, his voice thick. He forced her hand back, high against the wall and kissed her again. He wanted this to last more than ten seconds. He’d bring her to climax, enjoy watching her take pleasure at his hands, and only then find release in her body.

His fingers slipped beneath cotton, drawn by her heat.

A roaring explosion cracked the night sky, penetrating his fog of sensual arousal. He stiffened, muscles freezing at what sounded like artillery fire. Dread engulfed him as adrenaline spiked in his blood.

By the time the second reverberating boom rent the air he’d opened his eyes and registered the flash of coloured light. Relief surged so strongly he felt weak.

Reality buffeted him and he dropped his head, gasping, trying to force down raw, conflicting emotions. Relief that he was no longer in the nightmare world of armed conflict. And lust—the almost insuperable need for completion. If only willpower could shift blood from his groin to his brain! Never had he so completely lost control.

‘What is it?’ Tamsin sounded as shaken as he.

Another couple of minutes and he’d have had her, ankles locked round his waist while he shuddered his climax into her. Even now he craved it. The effort of not taking her made him tremble all over.

If he did her gown would be rumpled and stained, proclaiming exactly what they’d been doing.

There’d be stares and rolled eyes about his behaviour but that was nothing. His shoulders were broad, his reputation bad and people’s expectations low.

For Tamsin the gossip would be infinitely worse. He couldn’t do that to her.

He’d failed Felix. Failed his men. But in this at least surely he could manage to do the right thing.

‘Fireworks,’ he murmured, his voice a strained whisper. He cleared his throat and released her hand, letting it slide down the wall. ‘At the end of the ball we have fireworks and champagne. And a royal toast.’

He had to go. There was no chance to lose himself in Tamsin’s slick, warm heat, no matter how much he craved her. Reluctantly he dragged his other hand from between her legs, felt her shudder at the movement and wished it could be different.